THE WOMEN WE INTERVIEWED…

Julia Garcia, the mother of three, and a resident of La Limonera, is a leader in Mujeres Ganaderas, a cattle cooperative organized by and for women in the Bajo Lempa region. Currrently she participates in a project to exhume, re-bury with dignity, and remember victims of the La Quesera massacre which occurred in October, 1981, and in which most of her brother’s family was killed along with many neighbors.

Nidia Díaz, the mother of a grown son, is currently serving as a member of the Central American Parliament. During the war she was captured by a member of the US Central Intelligence Agency and turned over to the Salvadoran military, which imprisoned and tortured her. Her experiences from that time have been recorded in a book entitled I was Never Alone. She currently lives in San Salvador.

Claudia Perez, the mother of six, is an indigenous hammock maker who lives in the Perquion region with her partner Samuel and sells her wares primarily through a church parish in Boston, Massachusetts. Conscripted into the guerrilla army as a cook, she has become an advocate for all of those who “fall through the cracks” in military and civilian bureaucracy, especially those who, like her, never learned to read and write.

Morena Herrera, mother of three daughters, is founder of Las Dignas, a women’s organization interested in all aspects of women’s lives, including their reproductive health. Having lost several partners in the war, she tells a tragic story, but it is also the story of awakening--of awakening to the needs and rights of women and to a vision of an FMLN agenda that embraces the rights of all. She currently lives in Suchitoto.

Marisol Galindo, mother of three, is an entrepreneur living in Perquion where she owns a small restaurant, works as a consultant to tourism and local development for the Morazaon district, and advocates for environmental issues and eco-tourism. She was a comandate in the guerrilla unit for which Claudia worked as a cook and continues to be a sage analyst of social reality as well as a grounded visionary for the future of El Salvador.

SUPPORTING VOICES

Rufina Amaya, has the tragic distinction of being the sole survivor of the El Mozote massacre which took the lives of 800 campesinos in the hills of Morazan in December, 1981. Her account was denied by both the Salvadoran government and the US State Department for over a decade. After the Peace Accords were signed in 1992, a team of forensic anthropologists went in to investigate the site and validated her story. Mark Danner published a very moving account of the massacre and of Rufina’s experience, The Massacre at El Mozote, in 1994.

Deysi Cheyne serves as the Director of IMU (Instituto de Investigación, Capacitación y Desarrollo de la Mujer–Institute for Research, Training and Development of Women). She was a support person in the negotiations leading up to the Peace Accords and currently travels widely as an advocate for Salvadoran women’s development.

Yanira, was trained as a medic during the war and worked both in encampments and in hospitals caring for wounded guerrillas. At one point she was captured with her daughter and tortured for many days. She still chooses to go by her nom de guerre, giving as one reason that it is the only name her daughter knows her by.

Ana Maria, presently a squatter in Santa Ana as a result of the 2005 volcanic eruption, was captured and tortured by the Salvadoran military when she was only 15 years old. Her own persecution and that of others propelled her “into the mountains” where the guerrillas trained.

Tania Gochez, university educated and fluently bi-lingual, worked in intelligence and fought on the front lines of the 1980s war. An important link in her story is between the tragic shooting of her sister Delfi at a demonstration against the government and her current concern for the safety of her teen-age daughter, also, significantly, named Delfi.

Interviewer / editor: Caroline Cargo
Julia Garcia, a mother of three, and a resident of La Limonera, is a leader in Mujeres Ganaderas, a cattle cooperative organized by and for women in the Bajo Lempa region. Currrently she participates in a project to exhume, re-bury with dignity, and remember victims of the La Quesera massacre which occurred in October, 1981, and in which most of her brother’s family was killed along with many neighbors.
---------
Introduction
By the time we arrived at the offices of the Mujeres Ganaderas, a cattle cooperative organized by and for women in a rural community in the Bajo Lempa, we had endured a long and bumpy, hot and sweaty drive by car from San Salvador. Julia Garcia was already waiting for us. We passed by Julia’s bicycle leaned up against the side of the two story building and walked around back to the edge of a field and the outdoor meeting space. While we organized ourselves there in that open-air, covered pavilion completely enclosed by metal bars from floor to ceiling, a small herd of cattle and a horse roamed freely around us, grazing in the already oppressive heat of the morning sun.
From the few facts I had previously received about her, I already knew that Julia was young during the war, that many of her family of origin had died in the Massacre of La Quesera in the mountains north of the Bajo Lempa, and that today she is active in the massacre survivors group and a leader in the Mujeres Ganaderas.
While we waited for the equipment to be set up, we introduced ourselves. Julia told me the names of her three children: Franklin (20), Oscar Antonio (18), and her daughter Fatima (4). I showed her a photo of my husband and our three daughters who are 20, 18, and 16. Motherhood. Common ground. Familiar territory in this unfamiliar setting.
We sorted out logistics and agreed we would take a break after the first part of our interview session. There was a small place just a short walk up the road where we could have grilled chicken or fried fish for lunch. And then, time permitting, I would have a chance to go with Julia to her home in the nearby community of La Limonera to meet Franklin and Fatima in person, as well as Julia’s sister Irma, before returning to the microphones and questions to complete our work.
With our agenda thus comfortably arranged, we began. And all too quickly I sensed a deep discomfort rise again as I listened and confronted the reality that, in the same years during which I had been a privileged student at an elite women’s college in Massachusetts, and I must confess, completely ignorant of the situation unfolding miles away in El Salvador, Julia, now sitting just an arm’s length away from me, had been literally fighting for her life. What follows is in her words.

I was about 16 years old when the repression started to happen in 1979 and 1980. In the beginning, many families tried to leave the area which was called La Quesera, in San Agustín, Usulután. But when people tried to leave for San Augustín or for the village of Berlín, they were considered subversives trying to flee, and the Armed Forces assassinated them. They were old people of advanced age or couples with children. As a result, the rest of the families were afraid to leave and we stayed in our homes.

At this time, shooting was not yet going on in the villages. The army would arrive at a home in one of the hamlets in La Quesera, looking for the man. But knowing this would happen, the men were usually not around. So the army would find the woman and take her to San Augustín or Berlín or San Marcos. She would be raped, forced to cook, and perhaps tortured. Then after some time, maybe several days, she would be able to return home. All this was done quietly, but word spread.

By the end of 1980, general repression, with the army entering homes and killing people, began to happen. The sad thing was that, after one year, in 1981, the war broke out. The war was very heavy, and the guerrilla forces moved in because it was a strategically important area. It is a very rugged zone and sparsely populated because people had died or left. Those of us who were left had no other option than to join the guerrilla forces. We had no other choice.

In the beginning I joined the FPL (Fuerzas Populares de Liberacion--Popular Liberation Forces), and they trained me as a medic in emergency first aid. If a compañero [comrade, male] was wounded, we prepared compresses with cotton and gauze in order to apply pressure to lessen the bleeding, treated wounds, administered IV’s and injections. We did everything we could until they could be seen by a professional medical doctor. I was armed, but only for defensive purposes in an emergency. I marched at the end of the file of guerrillas.

But the FPL was too strict. They were very harsh with the people. When our footwear was in bad condition they didn’t replace it on time, and they didn’t supply us on time– not even a uniform, very little equipment. This is why I withdrew from the FPL. Something else that made me change was that when the FPL came to my house and obligated me to join their ranks, they promised to support my oldest sister and my mother who was blind as a consequence of the war. The FPL promised to provide the canasta basica for them, and they didn’t do it.

I couldn’t just leave the FPL and go home because then I would be a deserter, and they would kill me. Due to all of this, I changed ranks. So in August 1981, I joined the PRTC (Partido Revolucionario de los Trabajadores Centroamericanos--Revolutionary Central American Workers Party) because they were better supplied. While I was with the PRTC, I also was a medic, working on a rotating basis in a hospital run by the conjunto [board or committee] of the PRTC, FAR (Fuerzas Armadas de Resistencia--Armed Resistance Forces), and ERP (Ejercito Revolucionario del Pueblo—Peoples’ Revolutionary Army). For one period, maybe a week, the PRTC would work in the hospital, and then another group would come.

Finally I was severely injured by a grenade fired from a G-3 rifle. My left lung was damaged, and the grenade grazed my leg, which is still injured. I was hospitalized with some serious lung complications, but then there was a major invasion by the army in the area and we were isolated, so the PRTC couldn’t get any medicine to care for me. When the PRTC started evacuations, they decided to abandon me because they thought I wouldn’t ever heal. They left me behind in a trench during one of the invasions. Later, one of the cooks from the base carried me on her back for five kilometers and took me home to Irma, my older sister. Irma, together with God, healed me. My sister carried me through the mountains for two months until we got to the hospital of Santiago de Maria.

So, this is a little bit about how it was during the war. But this just gives you an idea because if we talk about the massacre, that is more difficult and that is when I usually can’t endure it and I start to cry. I don’t know if . . . well . . . but I can do it.

In October 1981, in the first year of the war, we suffered an invasion that is called tierra arrasada in which the elderly, pregnant women, children, and young people died. The massacre in La Quesera began on October 18 and lasted about ten days. The worst day was October 24. The Armed Forces killed anything in their path, including animals, birds, everything. We lost 22 families including nephews, brothers, cousins and uncles. It was so horrible that it took them one week to do it. They captured the majority of the people, and they killed them off during the week.

It was very sad when we couldn’t find my brother’s wife and children. In searching and searching for them we began to find groups of 25, 30, 15 people who had been assassinated and 20 young pregnant women whose stomachs had been split open. They had removed the fetuses and left them out to die in the heat of the sun. We could see this.

My brother had no peace. He almost went crazy. As of today, we still have not found one of my brother’s daughters. We were only able to find one of the twins and the little boy who was three years old. It took us eight days to find his wife with the 13 year old daughter who was named Sonia. But the little boy and the twin we didn’t find until three months later, tangled up in the limbs of a tihuilote tree on the shores of the Lempa River. I want this story to be known, and I don’t want this violence ever to be repeated. It has been good for all of us to reveal it. Thanks to God and the ability to tell the story with the support of Gigi, the psychologist, we have recovered quite a bit. Now we can talk about it. There are difficult moments but we can tell what happened, and it is a little bit easier. Now my brother can express himself, and I am happy about that. And now we can sleep with the hope that a commemoration of the families that were massacred will always be celebrated.

Yes, it was very difficult, and we suffered during the war, but we were hoping for a better way of life. Our greatest yearning was to have a place of our own to live--not to be on the hacienda [plantation] where they exploited our parents and us--and to have a piece of land to cultivate. We have always worked the land, planting corn and beans to survive. This was our dream. We also wanted a place for education because there were no schools. In all of the villages and towns there was only one school. For God’s sake, we walked three kilometers in a very rugged zone in order to study until sixth grade and then that was it! There was no more schooling available. In terms of health, children and the elderly died of curable diseases. Diarrhea, fevers, and polio were frequent in children at this time, and this was preventable.

At the time of the war, the leaders understood this and had our same objectives. In all of the organizations, the idea was to struggle for everyone and for all of us to live on the same level. As they said, “Everyone sleeping on the ground or everyone in the bed, but not some with food while others die of hunger.”

But in the political organizations today, it is different. The leaders at that time were with us. Now some have died; others have left the country, and others are in the Legislative Assembly. They are very far away from the villages and towns. The new leaders who have emerged do not all have the same ideals. You could say that they are not truly from that period but have emerged after it. They are not very equitable. They have their preferences.

Even so, we don’t let that stop us from continuing to express our ideals. We express them when we go to the marches or to a demonstration. And those of us who continue to suffer--who are still here--we carry on this vision of struggling for the common good and making a better future for our children, even though those at the top, in other words, the leaders, only think about themselves and their families. But we unite and pressure them to carry out the ideals and the struggle and to work to make our vision a reality after so much blood has been shed.

In the end, yes, the freedom of expression that we have today is important, but there is so much more to do. We have done a lot. But much remains to be done. I say that we have done a lot because we now have the opportunity to have a decent house which we did not have before. With the help of solidarity groups, we now have decent housing. We now have a school in the zone, also through the help of solidarity organizations, because we have yet to hear anything from the government. They don’t say anything. After the war, the Nueva Esperanza community did get a school that goes through ninth grade, but that is it. That is why I say there is a lot to do.

The education of our children is our biggest dream–and we don’t have it. We feel that we have a long, long way to go. We have achieved very little. Franklin, my oldest son, dreamed of going to the university, but it is not possible. And can you imagine how much we would like to have the opportunity to care for our health when we get sick? Since the war, none of us who survived are well. We all suffer a lot, a lot. My sister has heart trouble now and is about to die. She has no economic support so we are doing what we can as a family. There is so much more that needs to be done--so, so much more--because the government does nothing. It has done nothing.

For women, our situation has definitely changed since before the war. When we women were with the guerrillas, there was a lot of respect, great respect. We saw each other as brothers and sisters. Both sexes were there together with complete respect. There was intimacy which was voluntary, not forced. There was a lot of respect. Yes, in every meeting that we had during the war they made us feel the value of each person.

And after the war, I was working with the church. I evangelized full time for six years. In the Bible I also found the value of each human being and what we have to do as humans: to struggle together for each other and so that all are equal. I have always found this to be true, and it lives very deeply inside of me, in my heart, that both sexes must be respected and that we struggle so that there may be equality with the same opportunities, even though we are far from this. The church today also emphasizes respect and worth and that there should be equality between the sexes.

The struggle for social justice is the role of the church, and the church plays a big role in educating our communities on these issues. They are always gathering us together. There are calendars where each community has its particular day. The church is always very close to the communities. In this case the work is carried out by the pastoral team–the sisters of the Nueva Esperanza pastoral team. They read us biblical texts, then we discuss them, and they ask us questions regarding what we understood and how it made us feel. The questions are always related to the commitment that we have to others. This is arduous work--the work of a lifetime.

So, the situation I see today for women in the community is that, first, we women can express ourselves and we have the opportunity to work, which we didn’t have before because we had to be in the house washing dishes, making tortillas, and washing clothes. Now that women have the possibility to work outside their homes, it can mean that we are really doing double the work because we are still expected to be responsible for taking care of the work at home, too! It is difficult, but my children understand me and my personal situation.

Oscar Antonio, my youngest son, takes care of the house. And he likes to raise chickens. He takes very good care of them. He can wash, iron, cook, and he does it very well. He understands that he needs to study at his age, but since there are no work opportunities for him, and I can provide income, then he needs to take care of the house. My sons both take very good care of everything. They are always on top of their clothes, and they don’t make me feel bad because they have to take care of their own clothes. I am very happy because, when I get home, especially now that I am in poor health, I get in the hammock, and my son brings me dinner. He already has it made.

Today women also have the right to vote. During the war we didn’t have that right. And respect. We can discuss our rights with any man or with our partners, and we are listened to. Before we could not speak. We also have the space to assume responsibility, for example, to be president of a cooperative or to sit on the coordinating committee, to be the secretary, or to assume any other post in an organization. Women did not have this space before.

Today, on the contrary and not to boast, the men in the community are jealous of the Mujeres Ganaderas cooperative that I am part of because the entire administration is women and the women are leading the way. Throughout its entire development it has been women, and this is in the cattle ranching sector! So they say: “It’s true. The women have demonstrated their capacity and we continue to be useless.” This is what the Maria Zulma cooperative says. They are a mixed cooperative, men and women, but the administration is only men and their advances are fewer. It is the same in the Community Development Associations [ADESCO]. When the majority of the women are involved in the Community Development Associations, the community develops. And when it is administered by men, well, sometimes the meetings don’t happen, or the tasks aren’t accomplished because they are off drinking, and the community is forgotten.

To explain a little about how the Mujeres Ganderas is organized. . . . The cooperative began in 1993, after the war, and I joined in 2000. Now I work as a promotora [promoter]. I’m responsible for checking on how members are doing with their cattle raising and seeing if they are having any problems with the cooperative. I also help with logistics for workshops and with finances. If necessary, I follow up with women who may be overdue on their credit. And there’s more, if the need arises!

The cooperative has its statutes and its policies. If a group of women are going to incorporate, we visit them and then there are three subsequent meetings. We explain to them what types of cattle are most profitable; we do drawings, and it is all explained. After these three meetings, the women put up collateral which may be another animal that they have. This collateral has to be authenticated, and that is my job. I have to verify that this animal exists and that it is worth the amount which is going to be extended as a loan.

The loan only covers two animals because they are so expensive, and a first time loan is only $400. The loan is given to the group, 12 to 15 women. Then we accompany them to the cattle market. I go myself or Santana, the president of our organization, goes to show them which cattle are the most profitable, what price they should pay, and to make sure they don’t pay too much because people who don’t know how to buy are taken advantage of.

After the new members have made their purchases, we visit them. I visit them myself, and I show them how to give an injection. Some are afraid to do it, and others do it easily. They are taught how much parasite medicine to give, how many vitamins, and we visit them each month to make sure they are caring for the animal and that it is not wandering around in the street.

When the animal is fattened up, the women sell it and come to pay off their loan. If the loan was for $400, the two animals might sell for $600 to $700, and the women have to pay the loan plus 12 percent interest. Whatever is left is theirs, to cover their family expenses. Well, as always, we are always thinking about our children, so it is spent on clothing, food, cultivation of the land, buying fertilizer and seed.

Thanks to God, this cooperative was founded by women who suffered during the war and this is why we have the privilege of considering everyone as equals. Even though my educational level is very low, they have given me the opportunity to work as a promotora. I attend to 16 communities, and thanks to God, this provides me with an economic income, and my children can study a little bit, even though I do not have the means to prepare them for the university.

In reality, we have always received the support of women in this cooperative. They have trained us. They haven’t just given us a financial loan so we can begin to earn an income, but they have trained us in many kinds of ideas that are important for women: gender equity; how to take care of ourselves as women, and to value each part of our bodies, and to know each part by name; and educating our children in the same way. I feel that this has been the most important opportunity we have had since the war.

We were also trained in animal health. There was a meeting of all of the cooperative members and we were asked to determine who wanted or would be best suited for this training. There were 17 women who received the training, but I am the one who does the most work in this area. Veterinary work involves administering IV’s, attending deliveries, and treating diseases common to the region, such as anaplasmosis, piroplasmosis, and timpanismo. We also administer vaccines to prevent pierna negra [edema] which is very frequent in the zone. It is very easy once you are trained. Thanks to God, I was able to pick it up and to understand what problem an animal has. I can tell if there is a prolapse or tetanus according to the symptoms the animal has. This veterinary work gives me an additional income. My son has learned a lot, and he is able to earn some money from it as well.

We have seen many changes in the community when the women in the cooperative have started to learn all these things and to make some money. The men in the community, at first they reacted negatively, as if they were jealous. It took a while, but there are many men who say that they are grateful to the cooperative because they feel more support in their homes because of the income that the women provide for the family. They have come to value it, but at first they didn’t.

Sometimes, too, the men feel a bit pressured because their partners have more freedom of expression. We attend workshops which are given each month by Equipo Maíz in which we learn to examine the degree to which we can allow our partner to dominate us, or speak harshly to us, etc. The men know this, and it is as if their behavior improves. At first they didn’t want to let the women come to the workshops, but now it is getting easier.

In the countryside, the man has always considered that, in terms of intimacy, his partner is for his use whenever he pleases, not when she feels good or motivated. So this is a type of rape. Now, however, the women and even the men will tell you that the women express themselves, and if they are tired or are not willing to have sex, they don’t. This is one area where the women feel very grateful in terms of what they have achieved and are achieving because, not all of them but the majority, maybe 50 percent of these women no longer suffer from this type of violation.

Through the news we see that outside of the zones that we call “zonas controladas,” organized control zones, there is terrible violence against women. They are cruelly assassinated. There is rape, verbal assault. There is so much injustice in the neighborhoods around San Salvador. But in the “zonas controladas,” which is where those of us who survived the war live, this does not occur.

There is also an institution in the community called MCM [El Movimiento Comunal de Mujeres—Communal Women’s Movement] that works on issues of gender equity and domestic violence. The focus is on providing information to young people of both sexes regarding what gender equity means and how important it is to be organized. It is the same with the church. The church has meetings on Wednesdays. It is very beautiful because they give us analysis about the national situation. They emphasize how important it is to be organized, to form chains, and not to become fragmented.

So, in what we call the “zonas controlladas,” which is where we are organized, we have the opportunity to live without this type of violence. There is violence within families, but it is minimal. There are arguments between partners, but it doesn’t get out of hand and lead to death or heavy blows–no–just a discussion with words.

We also have some changes and growing awareness in the area of women’s health as a result of the education we have through the cooperatives. Many women have died of cancer because they didn’t get exams or because they have not explained the symptoms that they have because they are embarrassed. This was ingrained in us by our ancestors-- that the genitals are shameful. As a result, there are many cases of women who have died with venereal diseases, which are cancerous diseases of the vagina, because they were too embarrassed to express it or because this has been ingrained in us. I was like that. For me, the genitals were an embarrassment, and it was disgusting to express what one felt.

On the contrary, in the workshops they have explained to us that the genitals are something very precious, very important--just as important as the eyes, the same as our hands or any other part of our body--and that we should care for them more or equally as any other part of our body. We care for our eyesight. We are careful not to put something dirty in our mouths. Well, we need to have this same care for our genitals. There are still women who are not very interested in understanding how important it is to care for our genitals, but we continue to instill this in ourselves. For example, in visiting the homes, which is a job that I do, if I find a sick woman I start to slowly motivate the compañera [comrade, female] until we get to the point of knowing exactly what disease she has so that I can advise her to look for a doctor. This is important.

Yes, there are many new ideas and attitudes that we discuss in our women’s groups that we would not have talked about before. Another example would be homosexuality and lesbianism. Yes, yes. They have explained to us that it is not their fault, for the man and the woman. It is due to their formation. In the case of a man, it is as if the female hormone grows more than the male. So, in this case, if a boy or a young man acts like a woman, it is not his fault. Rather it is a result of his hormones which, unfortunately, were more female than male when he developed; and the same in the case of a woman. This is why they deserve respect and understanding. There will always be a lack of understanding on the part of some people, but not the majority. We are a large group of women, and we are very clear on this, and so are the men. We are committed to explaining things to our children, to our partners--why they are this way--in other words, if it is a man, why he acts this way, or, if it is a woman, why she acts in a certain way. Often we don’t understand the reason, and we are disrespectful of the person. I did not understand, but now I know that during one’s development there is an accumulation of different hormones. And now I can understand and respect them.

Well, I have told my three children all about our lives, from the very beginning when I was a little girl and my mother lost her eyesight and how my older sister and I struggled to care for my mother in the midst of total war.

Franklin cries and he understands. This motivates him to participate in some of the activities at the church. He was very involved when the forensic anthropologists came from Argentina. He was very close to the exhumation process to document the massacre we experienced at La Quesera. He says that what we lived through hurts him deeply and that he wants to struggle so that it never happens again.

For Oscar Antonio, my younger son, it is like a story, and he likes me to repeat it. But Franklin knows that it is very difficult for me and he says: “You are crazy. This isn’t a story–it is a reality and don’t make my mother suffer. She has already told us, and we know it, so don’t ask her to tell it again.” I have told them everything, everything, everything–every little thing. They know everything. I tell them about when the children died of hunger, how they murdered them, everything, everything.

My daughter, Fatima, is four and a half, and I imagine that she will be the same as the others because of my vision. If I am still alive when Fatima is a young woman, I will tell her the history and ask her to make an effort to keep organizing, to be in a youth group. She seems to be a very active child, and I hope that she continues to struggle. I hope in God that she will be a strong community collaborator. Ever since she was very young, we have always taken her to meetings. When I work, my sister takes care of her, and she is always taken along to meetings. She is very well-known by many institutions because she is always there. We always take her with us.

The objective of telling the entire history to my children and other young people who don’t know it is so that they will know to respect the place in which we live. This should not be taken for granted. This is because of struggle. These zones that we are living in belonged to the rich. Before the war, no poor person could be here. The young people need to respect that history and to struggle and to stay organized in groups. When they remember what we have told them and that, in the end, it is the elderly and the children who pay the consequences, they look for dialog. This is why we have marches and demonstrations.

My daughter, Fatima, is four and a half, and I imagine that she will be the same as the others because of my vision. If I am still alive when Fatima is a young woman, I will tell her the history and ask her to make an effort to keep organizing, to be in a youth group. She seems to be a very active child, and I hope that she continues to struggle. I hope in God that she will be a strong community collaborator. Ever since she was very young, we have always taken her to meetings. When I work, my sister takes care of her, and she is always taken along to meetings. She is very well-known by many institutions because she is always there. We always take her with us.

The objective of telling the entire history to my children and other young people who don’t know it is so that they will know to respect the place in which we live. This should not be taken for granted. This is because of struggle. These zones that we are living in belonged to the rich. Before the war, no poor person could be here. The young people need to respect that history and to struggle and to stay organized in groups. When they remember what we have told them and that, in the end, it is the elderly and the children who pay the consequences, they look for dialog. This is why we have marches and demonstrations.

The Caminata Por la Vida had three principal objectives: no to the privatization of healthcare, no to the Free Trade Agreement, and a return to the colón because we don’t want the dollar. These were the three objectives of the Caminata Por la Vida. The Comunidades Unidas [United Communities], the church, and an organization called Adival organized the walk. Several institutions joined efforts and assumed different responsibilities during the walk. Some were in charge of making sure there were always trucks to give out water or to pick up elderly women who couldn’t walk any more. Others were in charge of food. The mayor’s offices of Zacatecoluca and San Marquitos also contributed. A network of organizations participated and made it a reality.

Well, Franklin is very active and very agile, so his job was to hand out flyers to people on the buses. This is what was needed, and this was the role he played. Mario, the leader of Comunidades Unidas, told me that he did an excellent job because he was agile and could cover the entire bus making sure that everyone had a flyer.

When they go out to marches or demonstrations, I always warn my children to be prepared. I share the experiences I have had. They always take emergency money with them in case they need a taxi. I learned this through a very difficult experience. When Archbishop Romero was buried, those of us who had money to take a taxi when the violence broke out were able to get to our homes the next day. But others who didn’t have money for a taxi had to hide for a week, and they couldn’t get back to their homes. Even though there may be risks, I always ask my children and the young people to participate in the marches and the demonstrations because we think that this is the way to reach our objective, which is for our demands to be heard and to avoid armed violence.

More than anything, one of the achievements in my life that satisfies me the most is that my children have learned the little that I have learned, and they have known how to interpret it and to carry it forward. I am also grateful for the ability to work with a group of women. Sometimes I have to lead meetings in the communities or in this place, and I can be in front of fifty or more women. And thanks be to God, I don’t feel bad. I feel good. This is another achievement that is very satisfying.

When I think about my life and dream about the future for my children, my greatest wish for Fatima, my daughter, is that she will have the opportunity to prepare and educate herself so that she can be a woman who works for her people and does not have a life like the one I have lived, in tremendous poverty. There have been times when I have been alone, my children sick, and I have not been able to afford the medicine they need. I also would have liked to have had the opportunity for an education during my youth. My level of schooling is very low--fourth grade. In no other place would I have the opportunity to work that I have in this cooperative.
My hope, too, is that what we have lived here be known. What is most important for
me--all of it is important, but what I feel is the most important--is that the suffering we endured during the war be known. It is painful to remember, but I am always willing because I want the system of life we have to change for the future generations.

You could say that my life is over. But my children, my grandchildren, and the new generations need to know and understand the suffering of the past and know that now there is a change, just a little change, but that this change has cost so much blood, so many tears, and so much pain.